iNeed A Sharp Object
by aloxi
Summary: Well, Carly does, anyway. One to stab Sam and Freddie with. Now she has a broken laptop, a lost science report, and a brilliant plan to get the report finished... along with a sick Freddie and Sam to deal with. Seddie!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, sorry to disappoint.

Author's Note: This is my first fic for this show, so I hope I did well :) The thought of writing fanfic came when I was watching the episode iWanna Date Freddie, and I kept wishing Sam would go all jealous. LOL! Didn't happen, so writing Seddie is my outlet!

* * *

"Get away from me, disease spreader!"

"I just want the ibuprofen! Sam, come ba—_achoo!_"

"See?! _Disease spreader!_"

Carly considered throwing the computer mouse at her two friends, but decided it might be better to actually finish her science report first. But, she assured herself, when the report was finished she would definitely fling it. If all went well, maybe one of them would be knocked out.

"You don't need ibuprofen! It has a weird name!" Sam chose this moment to hop over the couch, holding the small bottle of medicine protectively against her chest.

"That means nothing!" Freddie yelled, leaning over the couch and trying to yank away the bottle.

"Rape!"

"I didn't touch you!"

"Rape!"

"Stop screaming!"

"Rape!"

"It's not rape, would you shut up?!"

"Unlawful touching! Rape!"

"Why don't you both shut up?" Carly shouted, standing up and wrenching the ibuprofen out of her best friend's grasp. "Sam, give Freddie the weird named medicine. Freddie, stop raping Sam."

"I wasn't—_achoo!_" Freddie's protests were drowned out in a fit of coughing, and he took the bottle from Carly without continuing. Sam looked on triumphantly.

"Why do you even need ibuprofen?" Carly asked curiously. "You aren't the disease spreader." Sam shook her head.

"Nah, my mom's sick too. I had to disinfect every room in the house yesterday." She shuddered. "It was not pleasant."

"She can't b—_achoo!_—uy her own ibuprofen?" Freddie asked, his words interrupted by coughs.

"Cover your mouth, nasty." Sam turned back to Carly. "She doesn't get paid 'till next week, and she's gotta save the money to buy groceries."

"Groceries are a staple of living," Carly accepted. "I'm nearly finished with my report. Freddie, go take the ibuprofen. Sam, find something to entertain yourself with. Like a video game. Or a ball of yarn."

"I'm not a cat," Sam announced, looking affronted.

"You sure?"

"Go take your medicine, disease spreader!" Sam snapped. "What're you doing that report for, anyway?"

"Because it tends to help me get good grades." Carly frowned and looked at the document on her laptop. "I think I'm finished."

"Did you proof read it?" Freddie asked, looking much more affable now that he had taken the ibuprofen.

"Why should she do that?" Sam asked, digging through the kitchen cabinets. "You got fruit?"

"Second drawer to the left," Carly answered without looking up. "Because, Mr. Polk takes off for spelling mistakes. Good idea, Freddie. Wanna take a look at it for me?" Freddie nodded, still sniffing a little from his cold, and took Carly's seat at the computer. Sam walked back in, holding an orange with a look of victory on her face.

"What's the geek doing?"

"Shut up." Freddie typed in something on Carly's report as Sam flopped onto the couch. Carly shot them both looks of irritation and turned on the television, happy to find the channel already tuned to MTV.

"Duh, soda!" Sam hit her forehead, completely ignoring that this outburst might seem odd. She looked around for a moment before finally settling her orange in Carly's lap and going back into the kitchen. It was a testament to how long they'd been friends that Carly didn't say anything and merely shifted to orange so it would stop pressing into her bladder.

"You're really bad with contractions," Freddie said conversationally to Carly, typing furiously.

"You're really bad with girls," Sam deadpanned, pouring her soda.

"Because you're so wonderful with guys. When you aren't beating them into a pulp, that it," was his reply, lightening fast.

"That was uncalled for." Sam took a sip of her drink and made to go back to sit with Carly. "You don't mind if I drink this on the couch, right Carls?"

"Well, I—"

"Whatever, I'm doing it anyway." Sam started walking back to her friend, pausing with an irritated glance at the floor as her foot became caught in one of the computer's cables. Trying desperately not to spill her drink, she hopped lightly, attempting to disentangle it. Carly, caught up in the TV show, didn't notice, but Freddie did.

"Sam, you better watch it," he warned, flinching as drops of soda flew out of the cup and landed on his face.

"I'm fine," Sam said, her brow creasing as she slid her foot on the floor to get out of the grasp of the computer cable. "I don't need—"

And that was when she went tumbling down.

"My soda!" she howled, her hands sticky with her drink.

"My face!" Freddie cried, his face sticky with Sam's soda.

"My report!" Carly shrieked, slamming Freddie out of the way and looking with horror at the blank face of the laptop. She whirled around to face her sticky-faced friend. "Is it gone? What happened? Who did it? Tell me, Freddie!" Her screeches grew hysterical, and Freddie clapped his hands over his ears.

"It's fine," he soothed, stomping on Sam's hand as she snorted from the floor. "Don't worry, your report's still there, as long as you saved it. You _did_ save it, right?'

"Maybe."

"Carly!"

* * *

That was fun to write :) Ha ha. But this is just the prologue—the plot hasn't even begun yet. Next chapter: Freddie's cold returns, Carly decides that there's a better way to get her report back, and lots of Freddie/Sam goodness. Please let me know what you think! 


	2. Brilliant Ideas And Guilty Phone Calls

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone, thanks for your reviews:) Again, this was terrible fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"Carly!" Sam yelled into the phone, ignoring the fact that she had probably just burst her best friend's eardrums. At the moment, she really didn't care—there were more pressing matters. "You're techno geek gave me his nasty germs! I hope—_achoo!_—he's happy!"

"You're sick?"

"No, I'm sneezing for the comedy of it all!" Sam snapped, snatching up another tissue from the box on her bed.

"It's not Freddie's fault. Maybe you're just susceptible to colds," Carly offered.

"How is this my fault?" Sam cried, hating the reason in Carly's voice. "Freddie's cold, Freddie's germs, my body! This does not even out!"

"Calm down. I'm still mad at you for ruining my report, Sam."

"I said I was sorry," she protested. "I'll even say it again: sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry."

"Please stop saying sorry."

"But I _am._" She sniffled a little from the cold and let out a loud sneeze. She could practically hear Carly recoil from the phone and then sigh.

"I know. I forgive you. But you were still stupid."

"I'll fix it," Sam promised, pacing around her bedroom floor. "I will. Aha! I know just the way. Carls, do you by any chance have access to a stun gun?"

"Freddie turned in his report three days ago, so you can't stun him and steal it."

"Well, that screwed everything." Sam paused briefly to wonder how Carly managed to know what she was thinking before she said it, and then decided it wasn't worth it and flopped back on her bed.

"I just need one extra day," Carly moaned. "Just _one _day. Come on, can't Mr. Polk have pity?!"

"You just need one more day?" Okay, she could literally _feel _the wheels in her head churning, and thought that a little light bulb might even have popped up for a few seconds. This was _too _good. "As in, a day numbering one?"

"Yes," Carly huffed, obviously not catching on to what Sam was trying to imply. "Why couldn't we have some freak snowstorm or thunderstorm or—or—or alien storm, or something?!"

"Alien storm?"

"Oh, you get the point."

"_Anyway,_" Sam pressed on, "if you need one more day, just don't go to school."

"You mean skip?" Carly asked, her tone unimpressed.

"Well, yeah. If you want to use technical terms." Sam sneezed again and fell back onto her bed. "Just convince Spencer you're sick. It can't be that hard."

"Yeah, but tomorrow he's visiting the art museum, remember? They're displaying one of his pieces." Carly's voice was an odd mixture of pride and fretfulness, though Sam couldn't see the reason for that last part. That just made it even more perfect, in her opinion. "Why do you think he stocked up on pie? So I could have dessert by myself, since he wouldn't come home until really late."

"You have pie?" Sam smacked her forehead and tried to stay on track. "That's not the point, Carls! I kind of need to write a report too…" She squirmed slightly as she thought of the state of her report card, and flipped over onto her stomach. "So I could stay home with you."

"But Freddie's the one who gave me all the websites and books that I wrote the report with!" Carly wailed. "And I can't do it without any references. What do I do with no facts, write, 'science is a subject of very scientifical things' and turn it in?!" Sam winced at the volume of her friend's voice and held the phone away from her ear slightly.

"Fine, then we'll ask him to stay home with us," she placated her, rolling her eyes at the thought, but still feeling the small twang of guilt for ruining Carly's report. "And he can help you from there. He's sick—and I am too, thanks to his disease-spreading ways—so that shouldn't be hard. What do you think?" There was silence on the other end of the phone. "Carls?" More silence. "Carly?"

Sam shrugged and clicked the phone off. Carly would come around eventually. As it was, she settled down to her mucus and used tissues.

--

"You're right."

"I love those words," Sam sighed, her head nestled on a pillow. It was pitch black outside, and nearly eleven at night—so it had take her best friend a little longer to come around than she thought.

"I already have a B in science. Without this report, that'll go down to a C, and Spencer would not be happy," she fretted. "I mean, I fight with him and all but I don't want him to be unhappy, because he's my brother and if I got a C in a subject I'm good—decent—okay at, that would be upsetting, and you know how he hates upsetting things—"

"Carls, breathe. It's a good thing."

"Right. I knew that." Sam heard her take a deep breath, presumably to prevent oxygen deprivation. "Okay. Okay. I'm okay."

"Good."

"Call Freddie for me, okay? I have to go take shower."

"I'm not gonna—"

"Night!"

Sam stared in disbelief at the phone she held in her hands. She was _not _going to call Freddie after he had infected her with his nasty cold germs. That was cruel. Cruel, cruel, cruel—

But Carly needed him for the report…

"I hate guilt," Sam announced, flinging the phone down on the bed. Fine then, she'd do it. But not without procrastinating a little.

--

Half an hour and one long shower later, Sam walked back into her bedroom, feeling slightly more coherent—the steam had cleared up most of her breathing, thankfully. She had her pajama bottoms on when she suddenly realized that it was just past eleven thirty and if she put off calling the dork any longer he'd be in bed and she'd be screwed, so with an almighty sigh she grabbed her cell phone and punched in Freddie's number.

He answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"

"Listen geek," Sam said impatiently, "Are you staying home from school tomorrow?"

"I guess, since my mom's positive I'll catch more germs there than here. Why are you calling me?" he demanded, his voice suspicious. Sam rolled her eyes, shivering and wishing she had more than two hands and could continue dressing. Somehow it just seemed wrong to talk to Freddie while she wasn't wearing a shirt.

"Well, as you know, you infected me with your sickness and disease," she grumbled, "so I'm staying home tomorrow too. And I convinced Carly to skip and finish her report. But you're staying home anyway, so you can just stop by her apartment! Brilliant, huh?"

"You convinced Carly to skip school?"

"More like planted the idea in her head. Don't test me. So you'll do it?"

"I guess, since I'll be home anyway," he told her, coughing slightly. "Is that all you called me for? At—eleven thirty five at night?"

"Hey, that's pretty good timing, you know!" Sam said, feeling affronted. "I just got out of the shower."

"Or you wanted to call me late just to annoy me."

"It's true!"

"I'm sure."

"It is!" She wasn't exactly sure why she was getting so angry, but she decided to ignore the reason for the moment. "I still haven't got my shirt on, thank you very much!"

There was a heartbeat's length of silence. "I could have lived my whole life without knowing that."

"Look, are you going to be at Carly's tomorrow or not?" Sam snapped. The urge to punch something came over her. Well, the word 'something' was interchangeable with 'Freddie's spleen,' in her opinion.

She heard him sigh. "Sure. Tell her I'll come."

"Good!" 

And she hung up.

* * *

Personally, I can't wait for the next chapter, when Freddie and Sam are actually stuck together while Carly works on her report- LOL! Remember to review!


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